The Nebraska Encounter (part 2)
PART 2 Day 223 post-Virus; new storage device At this point, I was essentially in heaven: the kid had some water which didn’t stink of either swamp or chlorine and actually tasted of, well, water; some cards we could sit down with; and a spot in the shade. I could not ask for more. Until... “I’m glad you’re here. My dad used to say that it's never good to drink alone, so I’ve been saving this for a hell of a long time.” It was at this moment that I wondered whether I’d been caught in some super’s mirage, or some other weird New-World shit like that. I kid you not, Dick — which is a fitting name for a dictaphone, one which I decided upon in secret. Admittedly, I should have consulted you, but I don’t think your input would have been particularly valuable. You are inanimate. Right? Yes, yes, right, of course. What was I saying? Wait, wait. Let me rewind. REWIND Some super’s mirage, or some other weird New-World shit like that RECORD Oh yes of course. Well, needless to say I just did not believe my eyes. He took out — no kidding — he took out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s Old no.7 from his bag. This kid didn’t just have water and shade, he had whiskey. “Are you fucking kidding me. Seriously, is this some sort of mind trick? What next, tall blonde strippers are gonna show up and show us a wild time? I refuse to believe a man with so much in his goddamn backpack is on a supplies run.” “Well... the thing is, it’s not food I’m looking for. I know how to find food, it isn’t too hard to find if you know where to look. Besides if I did have mirage powers, the strippers would be the first thing I conjured up, not some water.” “Kid, I like your style. Now let’s drink.” He poured the whiskey into two glasses. Don’t ask where he got them from, I still have no idea, even after a few days of re-playing the scene in my head. We picked up our glasses: “To the New World?” “And the old one we left behind!” “I’ll drink to that. Cheers!” The warm liquid hit my palate like liquid honey, or some sort of liquified version of joy and kittens. “Aaah. Haven’t had a good drink in what feels like a very long time. According to my calendar — which is, admittedly prone to errors, since it’s a piece of paper I keep a tally on — it’s been about 217 days. That’s a long time...” “Actually, it's been 223 days, man.” “How could you possibly know that?” “I dunno. Stuff like that just comes easy to me, I guess.” “That’s... Odd. Would you mind if I took a look at you? A doctor’s a doctor, even in a quasi-apocalypse, and it sure as hell isn’t that one glass of whiskey which’ll stop me from working at peak condition — it’ll probably help, to be honest. What do you say?” “Huh? Sure man, I mean you're a doctor. You really are a doctor right?” “Of course I am, now take off your pants!” He looked at me, not quite sure whether to be confused or mad “Of course I am kid, I’m just fucking with you. What do you think this backpack is full of? Bricks?” “Let's just get this over and done with.” “Okay, so, DANISH. Don’t know if you read that in your books, but that’s how a neuro exam works, DANISH. D for — it doesn’t matter. D for can you clap your hands then touch your nose..” I looked at his eyes, no sign of dysdiadochokinesis. “Okay, A. Ataxia. Stand up for me and just walk in a straight line.” “Ha, I can walk a straight line, I guess I’m gifted that way.” “Thanks, smartass. Now walk will you.” “Sure thing, buddy” “Okay, you’re fine, no balance issues. N, nystagmus, essentially, are your eyes fucking up. Look at me. Over here!” “Whatever, how long is this gonna take anyway?” “Longer if you talk back... Alright, your eyes are fine. Just two to go, I, intention tremor. Touch my hand. Good, that’s fine. Touch your nose, then my hand. And again. Perfect, that’s fine. I know S is okay, no slurring of speech, and H is fine, I can see you’re not flopping around all over the place. You want some standard memory tests?” “Standard? Screw that, if we’re going to do this we might as well make it interesting.” “Alright bigshot, let me just go get some harder tests from my pack.” I ran over to my backpack and picked out some Stroop test cards. He was in for a treat. “All righty then, let’s see how you like this! Stroop test, there’s a colour written down in a font of another colour. You have to tell me the colour of the font, not the word written down. Got it?” “Red, Blue, Black, Green, Orange, Pink, Blue, Pink. Next please.” Just like that. Rattled them off no problem. I took longer to check his answers on the reverse of that card than he had to read off the colours. “What. The. Fuck. Again, different card. Now.” “Purple, Aquamarine, Brown, Black, Red, Evergreen, Cerulean, Black. You have anything else?” I checked again. He was right. Again. “No fucking way. Hang on.” I sprinted back to my pack and picked up some... Shall we say "non-traditional" tests. “Okay smartass, try your hand — or head rather — at this: ROT-13 encryption and decryption. A is N, B is O and so on. What does the phrase ‘V nz n fznegnff’ mean?” He paused for a second. No, more. Three seconds. Three whole seconds, “‘I am a smartass.’ Really? Why do you even carry that test around with you? I thought we were going to make this interesting?” “Well fuck me sideways. Okay, last one, a Brown-Peterson test: I’m going to give you a list of items to remember. Then you’re going to count down from 999 in 3s until I tell you to stop and recite all the items you can remember. You ready?” “Sure man, whatever but after this we're building a campfire and hitting the Jack.” “Won't hear me complain. Now let's go: Banana, earthquake, Mauritania, shepherd, cow, mustang, zeppelin. Now count, out loud.” “999, 996, 993, 990, 987...” I let him count for a while, let the short term memories fade. I stopped him a little later, around 591. “Okay, lay it on me, in no particular order.” “Banana, earthquake, Mauritania, shepherd, cow, mustang, zeppelin. Can we stop now? I.... I don’t want to do this anymore” “Alright kid, we’re done. That’s... I’ve never seen that before. Ever. I need a drink...” I grabbed the bottle and took a swig. Fuck glasses, something weird just happened. Real weird. “ So now that that's over with, what are you looking for out here anyway? Besides the fact that you're a doctor from Atlanta, I don’t know much about you...” “Honestly? I have no idea. Me, maybe. Maybe a reason, a purpose, something to keep me going. Maybe just a lab, a hospital, go back to the old days. Maybe I’m looking for the spirit of America, see if it’s still out there. Maybe I’m looking for mankind, the remnants that are left. I just don’t know. Even within myself I don’t know if I want to study this society or be a part of it. If I do find the one tightly knit community which is perpetuating the American dream, do I want to join them? Do I even want everything to be okay? I don’t know whether to acknowledge that this fucked up mess happened or whether to try to live my life as a poor man’s Hal Jordan. I have questions, I have had questions since day one, but I just don’t have the answers. The wild might. Maybe something out here in the wilderness will know my true purpose here, or lead me to it, because I sure as hell don’t. I’m lost, and to be entirely frank, the only thing I can ever think of when I ask myself what I want from my life from now on is a shiny new lab with a starched white lab coat. I knew who I was in Atlanta. I knew my values, few and far apart though they were. I was a doctor, I treated patients.I didn’t much care for them, but I had a goal, I had a life. I could do my thing in peace, and have that “thing” be well defined, a small set of actions and parameters which kept me sane and content. I had structure, I had order. Now, what do I have? I have a tattered labcoat, the memories of some degrees I once poured my life and soul into, and what? A floating platform to carry my backpack? That’s not enough. I can’t wander forever, it’s not how I function, but for now, there’s no better alternative. Maybe one day I’ll find a lab, maybe with this “United Society” you mentioned, but as of right now, I just don’t know what I’m doing, why I’m here... I just don’t know”. “Buddy, you want my advice?” “Hit me.” “You need to stop thinking about who you were, because that person is dead. Being in a fancy lab with a nice clean lab coat won’t change the world back. You also might want to stay away from the factions — they’d care less about you being a doctor and more about your ‘abilities.’ It's your choice though man, don’t decide on anything tonight.” “I’ll take that advice under consideration when I next start thinking whilst on the road. So how about you, what was your life before?” “Before? Let's... Let's not talk about that” The kid had a worried look on his face. It was odd, out of character. I say that even though I barely knew him — but there was something off about that look. “C’mon kid, I bare my soul to you and you just blow me off? Seriously, where you from, what’s your sto—” I had yet to finish my sentence before he shouted: “I said no! I'm not going there, not again! Okay?” Something was very off. He looked terrified, but also pissed off to an extent I didn’t think possible from a guy who had welcomed a haggard stranger with open arms and whiskey. That neuro exam, that reaction at the end... I knew something was off with the kid, but I was too damn happy to care. END OF PART 2 Be sure to leave you thoughts and check out part 3!